


12 Months

by MagnoliasInBloom



Category: Outlander Series - Diana Gabaldon
Genre: F/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-10-12
Updated: 2019-10-23
Packaged: 2020-12-13 17:44:46
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 12
Words: 6,846
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21001655
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/MagnoliasInBloom/pseuds/MagnoliasInBloom
Summary: They meet. They fall in love. It’s not always easy, but they’ll always be together.





	1. Chapter 1

“You have to save my cat!” Claire bursts into the veterinarian’s office. She is holding the limp grey body of a fair-sized cat, who regards the receptionist with impassive green eyes. The cat meows softly, trying to burrow deeper into Claire’s chest. “It’s an emergency!”

“Indeed, ma’am, please, come round.” The nurse acting as receptionist—her nametag reads _Mary_—lifts the latch on the swiveling door, allowing Claire to rush through to the examination rooms.

“Doctor Fraser! We have a situation!” Mary calls out, and a tall, red-headed man pokes his head out of one of the rooms. His gaze meets a young woman, with a curly wig of brown hair, and an air of franticness.

“What is—”

“Please! His name is Adso, you have to save him!” Claire pleads, thrusting the furry grey mass into the veterinarian’s hands. He receives it gracefully enough, and proceeds with a no-nonsense demeanor into the examination room.

“What happened to the cheetie?” Dr. Fraser pokes and prods, while Adso lies supine on the stainless-steel table. The cat manages a few sounds, soft _mirrps_ that send Claire into a panicked frenzy.

“I’m such an idiot! He’s such an idiot! I left a roast chicken carcass on the kitchen table. I had my back turned no more than a minute when Adso was all over it, tearing a piece of the meat but I think he swallowed a small bone or two. He’s been lethargic and it’s like he’s trying to cough up a hairball, except scarier.”

“Aye, miss…?”

“Beauchamp. Claire Beauchamp.”

“Cooked chicken bones turn brittle and can break off into pieces. It can cause dogs and cats great harm. If the bone should splinter—”

“Is that what happened to him?” she asks, wringing her hands, not quite touching her cat. She is afraid to hurt him even more.

“Let’s see.” Dr. Fraser pulls a small but powerful torch from his white coat pocket, and thrusts two fingers into Adso’s mouth. He doesn’t take kindly to this, but Dr. Fraser isn’t a vet for nothing. Indicating for Claire to hold the cat’s body steady, he peers into the animal’s throat, hoping that there hasn’t been any serious damage.

“Och, I see it fine. ‘Tis a wee chicken rib, I think. Here, dinna let him go.” The vet fetches a set of tweezers or pliers; or so they look to Claire. Calling out to Mary for a helping hand, he inserts these gently into Adso’s jaw, while the nurse holds the torch for him.

It seems like an eternity to Claire, who hops lightly from one foot to the other as Dr. Fraser works to extract the bone fragment carefully. Finally, after a few minutes, it emerges. The good doctor holds it aloft triumphantly, while Adso glares at his savior balefully for his perceived ill-treatment.

“Oh, thank you! Thank you!” Claire clutches at the veterinarian’s sleeve, eyes watery with relief. She reaches out to pick up the cat, but stops, asking permission with her golden honey eyes. Dr. Fraser nods with a smile, noting the extraordinary color of the pet owner’s eyes.

“I would like to keep wee Adso here overnight, just fer observation. I dinna think the bone punctured anything, but I’d like to be sure. Would that be alright, ma’am?” He feels odd addressing her so formally; she looks about his own age.

Claire seems to feel this too, insisting he call her by her name. “Just overnight, then.”

“Ye can pick him tomorrow, ten o’clock. If anything develops, we’ll call ye straightaway. Leave your number with Mary. Dinna fash, Claire. I’m sure Adso here will be just braw.”

Claire, new to Scottish phrases, did not quite know what _fashing_ meant and why she didn’t have to do it, as well as Adso being _braw_, but understood the sentiment.

“Thank you again, Dr. Fraser. I don’t know what we would have done without you. We moved here a few months ago, but haven’t gotten around to transferring Adso’s records to a new vet. I guess we just found one.” Claire lets Mary take Adso away, with a gentle kiss pressed into his fur and reassurance that she would be back for him the next day.

“Do you and your husband live close by?” Dr. Fraser busies himself with cleaning the table and washing his hands with strong-smelling antiseptic soap, while the tips of his ears turn bright red for the discerning observer.

“Oh, _we_. I meant Adso and myself. No, I’m not married.” Claire’s eyes meet and skitter away from the doctor’s blue gaze.

“Well, ‘tis always a pleasure to meet new patients. If ye’d care to get yer old vet’s contact information to us, we’ll be happy to obtain Adso’s records, for reference.”

“Perhaps you should have my mobile number directly. You know, just in case.” Claire cannot believe what prompted her to be so forward; well, actually, she can—it must be the kindness in his blue eyes.

“Aye. Just in case.”

Fingertips brush against each other while they exchange numbers, both blushing furiously and blaming the heating in the building. It is _January_, after all.


	2. February

Claire sips her coffee while Dr. Fraser’s—Jamie’s—feet tap gently alongside her own. This is around the tenth time they’ve seen each other since that fateful day when Adso swallowed a chicken bone. He is perfectly fine now, back to lording it over the flat and leaving cat hairs on all of her jumpers.

In between the days, they have filled them with all there is to know about each other. Claire’s move from London to Edinburgh, to continue as a primary school teacher. Her devotion to her Year 4 students. The loss of her parents, being raised by itinerant archeologist Uncle Lamb, which sparked her love for education. Jamie’s upbringing at the family farm, which in turn fostered his love of all animals. His mam’s death, and how it brought his da, his sister Jenny, and himself closer together. His studies at uni, his love of rugby, how his father had helped him establish his practice in the city—although he still visits the farm almost every weekend.

Only now are they tiptoeing around their previous relationships. Jamie had one serious girlfriend at university, Laoghaire, but they broke up when his chosen career proved too demanding for her taste. Claire had dated several men, but her one long-lasting relationship had ended shortly before her move to Scotland.

“Frank and I were both teachers, but he was a lecturing historian at Cambridge. I didn’t feel I was intellectual enough for him, and he never made me feel otherwise. It was also the fact that he I caught him kissing Sandy Foster in the coat closet at the university faculty party.” Claire’s cheeks flush, in embarrassment and anger.

Jamie reaches over to take her hand in his. He notices the pen streaks on her fingers, a tiny spot of magic marker on her knuckle. He has come to know the signs of her trade; he has come to adore them.

Claire lets him rub his large thumb over her palm. She can smell the antiseptic on his hands, harsh but familiar. The parallel cuts on the back of his hand, left there by a scared rescue dog he was trying to wash. She has come know the signs of his trade; she has come to adore them.

_Adoration_ would lead to something else.


	3. March

“Are ye sure, _mo nighean donn_?” Jamie gasps into her ear, as he swiftly rids her of her cardigan. Claire leans into him with a kiss while her own hands rove restlessly down his back. She loves the swooping thrill it gives her to hear his Gaelic endearments.

“Of course I’m sure, you wee daftie. Let me help.” She divests him of his jeans, while he pulls off her shirt over her head. There is urgency and heat and want written all over their hands and faces. They stumble onto her bed after shutting the door quite abruptly in Adso’s whiskered face.

Claire and Jamie had decided to wait a few weeks before becoming more intimate. They had wanted to give each other time to bask in the feeling of knowing each other before _knowing_ each other. Today, kisses turn to caresses, which turn to hands under clothes and now the clothes are flying off.

They come together for the first time, but it feels like old lovers meeting. Jamie seems to know where to kiss and knead to make her moan, while Claire divines that precise spot on his abdomen that is ticklish when she sucks on it. When he finally enters her, she pushes against the small on his back until he is buried inside her to the hilt. They are as yet too eager for tenderness, so they settle for frenzy instead. They move; push and pull, buck and sway, until it all comes to a head in a rush of panting breaths and heartrending cries of pure pleasure.

Jamie lies on Claire’s chest, short of breath and exhilarated. “I thought my heart was going to burst,” he manages.

Claire runs her fingers through Jamie’s sweaty red mop; she catches a tangle and accidentally pulls too hard. She apologizes with a laugh that does funny things to the way they are still connected. Jamie rolls them over so Claire will be on top as they love each other again and again. The second time around, they go slowly, gently, savoring each touch and taste. They whisper trembling _I love yous_, and mean them with all their hearts.

Outside Claire’s flat, it is spring. March prepares to concede to April showers, which will bring May flowers. _Life_ will blossom.


	4. April

_This is not the flu_, she thinks.

Dragging herself to rinse her mouth at the sink, Claire reached over blindly to flush the contents of the toilet bowl. She is pale, dark circles smudging under her eyes. She has been sick every morning all week. It always abated after breakfast, and did not return until the next day. She had attributed it to questionable sushi, then a stomach bug—she catches colds from her students all the time.

But this is different. Jamie has been nothing but solicitous all week, too, fetching her aspirin and Gatorade to replenish the fluids she’s lost. But her body still feels off somehow, not quite achy, but clumsy and odd. And then it hits her.

She is pregnant.

Claire walks out of her small bathroom; she paces in front of her bed wearing the threads of the area rug. Adso weaves in and out of her legs for every step, knowing something’s up. She holds her head in her hands, tangling her curls even more before deciding the order of business.

First, she calls in sick at the school. Headmaster Christie can surely find someone else to fill in for the rest of the day—perhaps her colleague Geillis has some free periods.

Second, she showers to try to erase the chill of realization from her very bones. Claire takes a few minutes to try and analyze what she is feeling underneath it all. They had been careful, safe, taken precautions. It isn’t in her plans, to be sure. She and Jamie have never discussed children. While they are very much in love, they are certainly unprepared for this, _now_.

Oh God. Jamie.

Next, she dresses quickly and half-walks, half-jogs to the nearest pharmacy. Hiding under huge sunglasses, she purchases what she hopes is the most accurate pregnancy test available. As she makes it back to her flat, thoughts battle inside her head: the test might be negative, or it might just be a very resilient virus.

But as two lines turn pink on the test, she realizes how it might just change their lives.

\- - -

The puppy Jamie holds in his arms howls and drowns out Claire’s trembling voice.

“I’m sorry, Sassenach, ye what now?”

“Jamie, I’m pregnant.”

The puppy’s howls turn to soft yips as it tries to nibble Jamie’s fingers. Dr. Fraser himself hasn’t moved an inch. He stands, frozen, regarding Claire’s anxious amber eyes as he processes his next move.

“Mary!” he calls out, and as soon as his assistant pokes her head into the room, he hands off the puppy with instructions to give it a dose of worm medicine. After Mary walks out, Jamie turns to Claire, who stands half-amused, half-panicked, waiting for his response.

“Alright. Christ. Ye’re pregnant, then.” He takes Claire’s hands in his own and traces his thumbs gently over her skin. “What do ye want to do?”

“Well.” Claire looks down at her shoes. “I’m keeping the baby. I just wanted to tell you. I know we’ve just started to see each other, and all of this is relatively new.”

“This?”

“This, _us_. I wanted to tell you that I accept whatever decision you want to make about me, and the baby.” She takes a deep breath, and rushes through her speech. “If it’s too much, if you don’t feel you’re ready for a baby, please know that I understand, I have no claim on you—”

“No claim on me?” Jamie exclaims, interrupting. “What exactly do ye think a child is?” He sighs in exasperation. He steps closer to her; he can feel anxiety rolling off her in waves. Doing his best to calm Claire down, Jamie kisses her hands, holding them to his chest. “This bairn has an undeniable claim on me Sassenach, same as ye. The claim of blood... and the love I bear ye.”

Claire cannot help the tears that flow from her eyes. Her heart eases its frantic gallop, and she feels like she can breathe for the first time in hours. Her shoulders lower from where they were hunched around her ears, her knees wobbly with relief.

“If you've no claim on me,” Jamie continues, wiping her tears away, “I've one on you.” He’s quiet for a minute, one hand touching her still-flat stomach; the next moment, he is on his knees before her. “Marry me.”

“W-w-what?” Claire swallows hard, startled, heart racing once more. “Jamie, I—”

“You’re it for me, Sassenach. I want ye, and our bairn, forever. Please, say you’ll have me.”


	5. May

Claire says she doesn’t need an engagement ring, and means it. Jamie is uncertain, wanting to do everything right and tradition demands that she have a sparkling diamond ring, no? But his Sassenach is adamant that it’s unnecessary; she would much rather they focus on the small ceremony they have planned, just friends and family, and simple wedding bands for them both.

_He can’t imagine wanting to spend his life with anybody else._

So Jamie holds her ring-less hand at their first doctor’s appointment, anxiously awaiting for the screen to show them the life they’ve created together. They have decided to wait until the birth to find out the sex of their baby. Claire seems remarkably calm, gently rubbing her barely-protruding stomach. Her eyes shine with love and feeling.

_His gaze is blue, like the sea, the sky. She wants him, forever. This is absolutely right._

The thumping echo of their baby’s heartbeat fills the room and their ears. Claire wipes away a tear surreptitiously before noticing Jamie is crying openly, tears streaming down his face. She marvels at the wonder of a man so open with his emotions, with his heart.

_She repeats their vows after him, first in Gaelic, then in English:_

_Ye are Blood of my Blood, and Bone of my Bone,_  
I give ye my Body, that we Two might be One.  
I give ye my Spirit, 'til our Life shall be Done.

They’ll be heading up to Jamie’s family farm, and ask the midwife to print another copy of their baby’s first picture. Brian will cherish it and display it proudly in his study at Lallybroch. Jenny will spend many hours patiently answering all of Claire’s questions about births and bairns (having had 2 of them herself).

_The rings slide easily onto their fingers, glowing in the spring sunshine._

Claire’s new sister-in-law helps her choose a simple dress, a creamy white, that she will complement with sterling silver roses from their mam’s garden. Jamie nearly bursts with pride at the sight of her so adorned, as her uncle Lamb leads her down the aisle. Claire cannot stop the smile that blooms on her face at the sight of him in his Fraser tartan kilt, tall and handsome and hers.

_With a kiss, they place an intangible seal on their love; fiercely to cherish, softly to guard._

After the two-and-a-half-hour drive to Skye, Claire feels as if she could sleep for a week. But after a glance at her Jamie, whose eyes match the hue of the water outside the bed and breakfast, she is no longer tired. Jamie hangs a _Do Not Disturb_ sign on their door and locks it for good measure.

They are all hands and lips and sighs when they join for the first time as husband and wife; Claire is desperate and rough, Jamie tender and gentle as he traces the curve of her belly, so round with their child.

_“Lord, ye gave me a rare woman; and God! I’ll love her well,” he whispers in her ear._


	6. June

Boxes are strewn all around their bed. It was the first thing they assembled—well, Jamie did, not allowing Claire to lift a finger—before ordering takeaway curry and snuggling together in their new flat. Adso lies in one of the many empty boxes, fast asleep. Their hands twine together over and over in the air, platinum wedding bands catching the glint of the lamplight.

“What about Ellen, for a girl? After your mother?” Claire suggests.

“Mmphmm. Perhaps. Or Julia, after yer own?”

“Perhaps both names, first and middle.”

“And if it’s a boy? I’d like Henry Brian. Nay contest, Sassenach.” 

“Jamie,” she says softly, “are you happy about it? About the baby?” Having had this thrust upon him, he could have been less than enthusiastic about acquiring such a responsibility.

He is silent for a moment, only hugging her harder, then sighs briefly before answering. “Aye, Sassenach.” His hand strays downward, gently rubbing her belly. “I’m happy. So proud. But I am most awfully afraid, too.”

“What about?”

“You, giving birth.” Although Jamie knows she will receive the best possible medical care, there is always a risk; they both know this. “That, and everything else. I want to protect ye, Claire, as though I could shield you and the child wi’ my body.”

“I know you’d take the pain for me, and gladly.” She places her hand over his on her stomach, stroking gently.

“I would do anything for ye, and yet… there’s nothing I _can_ do. It doesna matter how strong I am, or how willing; I canna endure for ye what ye must, nor even help ye at all. To think that anything could happen to ye—aye, I’m afraid, Sassenach.”

“But think of the joy we’ll have, Jamie.” Claire turns over, and Jamie nestles behind her like a spoon. “Just to think of you, with our child in your arms, cradling him or her on your shoulder… I feel I shall burst with joy.”

He presses her tight against his chest, hugging her with all his might. “Oh, Claire. Ye do break my heart wi’ loving you.”


	7. July

It is the little things.

The little things start to irk Claire. Like globs of shaving cream in the sink, copper hairs dotting the bathroom counter. The way Jamie’s clothes lie next to the hamper instead of inside it. He never shuts the door behind him, making her stand up to close it all the way. Most discomfiting of all: a jealous streak, one she discovers when he speaks sharply to the cashier at the nearby coffee place, the one who dares to smile a little too brightly and whose eyes linger too long on her.

God knows she has her faults, too. Claire lets dishes pile up in the sink until it’s like playing Jenga. She forgets to take out the trash until the bin is overflowing. There’s leftovers in the fridge that don’t get thrown out until they’re fairly moldy. She’s an impulse shopper at the grocery store instead of sticking to Jamie’s methodical lists. She’s forgotten to pay the water bill twice already.

They soon realize the honeymoon cannot last forever. She’s been tidying up the place all day; he is at the clinic all day, and she is on summer holiday. It’s the least she can do, she feels, since she’s not working at the moment, but would still appreciate a helping hand here and there.

“Could you wipe off the bathroom mirror, change the bog roll sometime?” she asks, and she can’t control the ice in her tone.

Jamie is immediately incensed after a long day. “Could you then maybe grab a broom every once in a while? My socks pick up all these long curly hairs everywhere in the house.” He wants to take the words back when he sees the expression on her face; he knows she’s feeling nauseated and exhausted, and she’s still trying to clean.

“Oh, do you want to talk hair?” Claire snaps back. “I’m not the one who shaves daily and leaves a sodding mess behind each time.”

What starts as a biting comment about cleaning develops nonsensically into a shouting match about how Headmaster Christie practically hugged her at the end of year ceremony Jamie attended to support Claire. 

“He did it just to rile me up, Sassenach. Did ye ken he was at veterinary school but flunked out? He was always a spiteful wee thing. When he saw I was yer husband I bet he just—”

“Yes, you’ve told me a million times about vet school! What does _that_ have to do with—” Claire gestures wildly but Jamie takes hold of her wrists and interrupts her tirade.

“Sassenach, mind the bairn. It’s not good for ye to get yer blood pressure up so.”

“Then bloody stop bringing up _fucking_ Tom Christie every single time! Can’t you see it’s _you_ who’s jealous, you rutting bastard—” She yanks free of him and shoves an accusing finger in his face.

“You foul-mouthed shrew!”

At each other’s throats, neither has noticed Adso weaving between their legs until Jamie almost trips and with a roaring expletive, sends Adso scurrying under the couch. Claire demands he apologize to the cat; Jamie refuses, calling it an idiotic thing to do, and both finally spring apart. Claire takes the couch, and Jamie sits at the kitchen table with his back to her.

Neither speaks for the longest time. Jamie huffs every few minutes; Claire tries to stop the tears from coming, fearing he will see it as manipulation. But all it takes is a soft sniff from her and Jamie is at her side, arms around her and lips in her hair.

“I am so sorry, _mo nighean donn_. I seldom lose my temper, and generally regret it when I do. Please forgive me. I said more than I meant.”

“I’m sorry too, Jamie. I was so very rude to you…” Their apologies are lost in a flurry of kisses and embraces. Adso peeks from beneath his hiding spot, the fight clearly over. Jamie reaches down to rub around Adso’s ears, an apology in itself, and all is forgiven as far as the cat is concerned.

Jamie suddenly lifts her from the couch, her arms tight around his neck. “Come to me, Sassenach. My whisky-eyed lass, my love. Let me take ye to bed.”

And he does.


	8. August

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Part of "One Quote One Shot" Book 2.
> 
> Thanks to @notevenjokingfic and @balfeheughlywed for organizing all of this - you are rockstars.

The heat is unbearable. They sleep with sheets crumpled at the foot of the bed, too hot even for the weight of cotton. Jamie sleeps without a stitch on, but Claire, growing sensitive about her body and her ever-expanding stomach, chooses one of his t-shirts. No matter how he tries to convince her that she is just as desirable now as she was when they first met, Claire is shy about the silvery lines crisscrossing her skin, the fleshiness of arms and legs.

The small oscillating fan they managed to fit in the corner of their bedroom moves lazily, blowing fresh air but not enough for a pregnant Claire. A drop of sweat trails from her temple down her cheek, but she is gone with sleep, oblivious to the world, snoring lightly. It’s nearly dawn; slanted bars of streetlight land on Adso’s sleeping form in front of the fan.

Jamie couldn’t say what had woken him; perhaps it was the heat, perhaps it was that feeling of things left undone. They have only several months left before the baby arrives; between getting ready for the bairn, his practice, and Claire’s job, there’s always something coming up. He thinks about rising for a drink of water, then decides it’s too hot to leave the relative coolness of their bedroom for the stifling air of the kitchen. Instead he turns his attention to Claire.

She lies on her side, one hand tucked beneath her head. Her curls are spread in a riot on the pillow, the shirt rucked up to her hips. He adores the way her lovely round arse (now rounder and plumper than ever) fits perfectly into the hollow of his thighs. She stirs suddenly, turning her head, her eyes opening sleepily to find his gaze on her. Claire presses closer to him, despite the heat.

She hears him whisper, “_Mo airgeadach._ My silver one. In the dark, you are white and silver; _mo nighean donn _is lost to the night.”

**The light is growing stronger, and he spends a long time just looking down at her face, stroking it from temple to chin, drawing his thumb down the line of her throat and out along the wing of her collarbone. “God, I do love you,” he whispers, as though to himself.**

“I know,” she mumbles. “I love you too.”


	9. September

Claire plops herself into a chair while Jamie makes her some tea and toast. She is starving; she came home from school and napped all afternoon next to Adso on the couch. He sits on her lap now, rubbing his head against Claire’s hand. She misses the glint of her wedding band; her fingers have grown too swollen for it, so she wears it around her neck on a chain.

“So I look around, and my lunch is not in my bag. Turns out I left it here; chalk it up to pregnancy brain. I thought I’d get the school lunch, but it was fish fingers and smiley face chips—it gave me nausea. Geillis offered her Indian takeaway leftovers, but the spice would just give me heartburn. I really hate this.”

“I’m sorry, Sassenach.” He presses a kiss to her forehead.

“I mean, I don’t hate being pregnant. You know that. It’s just—there’s so much I can’t do and all the physical discomfort.” She gestures at her burgeoning body. “It feels like I’ve been pregnant forever and there’s no end in sight.”

“Speaking of endings,” Jamie says, setting a proper big mug of tea in front of Claire, “there’s something I’d like to discuss with ye.”

“Yes?”

“It’s about yer job. Are ye sure it’s not too taxing on you?” Jamie amends his words hastily when he sees the expression on Claire’s face. “It’s just I see ye every afternoon, sae tired, and I wouldn’t want anything to happen to ye, or affect the bairn.”

“We’ve just started term, Jamie. I’ve told you, it’s always hectic at first, but things will calm down. I’m fine.”

“Alright, mo chridhe, but if ye are not feeling well, ask for help. I ken Geillis would be happy to oblige. I’d like to ask that ye take care of yerself, that’s all.”

Claire’s heart melts a little and brings Jamie’s face close for a proper kiss. “I promise, Jamie. I’ll take care of myself, and our baby.”

\- - -

Claire can’t help but berate herself over and over when she sees the spots of blood in her underwear. A cold shiver trails down her spine; even she knows bleeding at this point in her pregnancy means trouble. She leaves the toilet stall and leans against the wall, a single tear trailing down her face. She wipes it away and thinks about what she needs to do.

Call Jamie. Of course, that’s first on the list. He had been right—he usually was. She is overexerting herself, on her feet most of the day and traipsing all over school. Should she get herself to the hospital? No, she probably shouldn’t be on her own. Get an Uber, then. Jamie can meet her there. She doesn’t have any afternoon lessons, so that’s one thing less to worry about. Claire cradles her belly, and receives a gentle nudge from its current inhabitant. This bolsters her courage immensely—the baby is still very much _there_. She will do everything in her power to keep him or her safe. 


	10. October

“What is _that_?!” Claire exclaims, pulling herself up against the sofa cushions where she has been lying for a nap. Jamie smiles sheepishly.

He is holding a bright purple leash in his hand, attached to an enormous shaggy dog. The dog sits patiently, tongue lolling, and blinks benignly at Claire. Adso comes over to investigate, takes one look at the size of the intruder, and promptly leaves, tail in the air.

“Hear me out, Sassenach. He’s a Newfoundland, and we found him a couple of days ago wandering down the street.”

“No collar?”

“He had one, but no tag on it. No one’s claimed him or put up posters; when we have him in the kennels at the clinic he howls for hours on end. It has Mary, the other animals, and myself completely frazzled.” Jamie does look worn out, and Claire smiles in sympathy.

Since Jamie had met her frantically at Western General, he has been unfailingly devoted and anxious about taking care of her. The attending obstetrician had checked her over thoroughly, ran every conceivable test he could think of. Everything seemed alright, except for the bleeding. The doctor thinks it might be an undetected cervical polyp, but there’s nothing to be done until after the baby’s born. He has advised constant bed rest; Claire must stay off her feet as much as possible, limit her physical activity, and avoid lifting heavy objects.

The last time Claire had been to work at school was only to sign papers for her extended medical leave, accompanied by a relieved Jamie. Headmaster Christie had looked none too pleased, but had subsided in his comments at a single vicious glare from Jamie. Now Claire spends her days rotating between their bed, the couch, and the kitchen table. Jamie is doing all the household chores and Claire’s sole responsibility seems to be reading, watching Netflix, and trying to learn how to crochet a baby blanket from YouTube videos.

“So what is he doing here?” Claire raises an eyebrow.

“We’ll be turnin’ him over to the SPCA in a few days. I just dinna want to keep him in the kennels.” Jamie reaches down to pet the dog on the head. The dog’s eyes close and he gives a doggy grin.

“James Fraser, this is too much, even for you. As much as I would like to help, you know I can’t take him out, or walk him, or even carry the bags of food!”

“Sassenach, ye wouldna have to lift a finger! He could just keep ye company here. If ye need anything, call me or I’ll send Fergus over.” Fergus is a recent veterinary school graduate, undergoing further training with Jamie. “He seems well-trained. Call him over to ye.”

Claire is skeptical. “What should I call him?”

“I thought his name could be Smoky. Ye ken—he’s grey like wee Adso. He seems to respond to that.”

“Here, Smoky.” The giant dog ambles over to Claire, nosing her outstretched fist and licking it softly. He nuzzles her belly and sits next to her on the floor, not the couch; well-trained, indeed. This endears him to Claire, though she won’t admit it yet.

“Just for a few days, alright?”

A few days turn into weeks. Smoky makes friends with the willful Adso, letting him knead his paws on his enormous back. He keeps Claire company during the long days while Jamie is at work. Smoky fetches, doesn’t bark or shed fur, and is wonderfully warm at her side while she sits and crochets.

Claire will not let Jamie call the SPCA, so he gets Smoky a new tag with their cellphone numbers etched on the back instead.


	11. November

With both their pets staying with Mary, Jamie and Claire pull up to Lallybroch for a quiet week away before the bairn arrives. Young Jamie and Maggie, Jenny and Ian’s children. welcome their auntie and uncle with shrieks of delight.

The baby is due next month. It is unlikely they’ll be able to make it to Lallybroch for Christmas, so Jamie and Claire have opted to spend their first Christmas as a family in Edinburgh. Jenny, Ian, and the children will join them in the New Year to meet the new wee Fraser. Jamie and Claire plan to make the most of this mini-vacation.

Claire waddles to the dining room, assisted by Jamie. He rubs her lower back gently before helping her into a chair. The rest of the Frasers all sit around her and they immediately pile food on plates. Claire cannot remember ever feeling happier; surrounded by her husband and his family, and expecting her own, warm and safe and loved.

After dinner, they adjourn for the living room. Ian tempts Jamie with fine whisky and with Claire’s blessing, Jamie partakes of more than a few glasses. Eventually, the whisky and extreme fatigue claim Jamie as he dozes off on the plush settee.

“Poor lad.” Claire shakes her head and raises her own tumbler full of lemonade at her husband. “He’s worn out; he’s pushing himself so hard at the clinic so Fergus can take over for a bit. You know, when the baby is born. Between that and doing everything else around the house—”

“Ye ken well how he worries, Claire. That scare ye had in September…”

“I’ve felt fine since then. But yeah, I know he worries. I wish he didn’t have to.”

Claire stands awkwardly, feeling the sudden urge to run her fingers through Jamie’s thick red tresses; his lips curve at once in a soft, reflexive smile, then relax into sleep once more.

“That’s funny, that is. I’ve not seen him do that since he was quite small.” Jenny sips from her own whisky glass.

“I noticed it when we were first married. I wonder why he does that.” Claire plants a kiss on the nape of Jamie’s neck, and sure enough, he smiles again.

“I imagine it means he’s happy.” Jenny smiles at her brother and her new sister, bonny and canty and strong. “Ye make him so happy, Claire.”


	12. December

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you for joining me on this journey! It started as a simple one-shot and ended up 12 chapters long. I hope you've enjoyed reading them as much as I enjoyed writing them. Thank you for all your lovely comments and words of encouragement. <3

“Slow down, Fraser. Jesus H.”

“Sorry, _mo nighean donn_. I just canna believe this is happening righ’ now.”

“Well, it’s about time, don’t you think? It’s been exactly forty weeks,” she grumbles in response.

“Aye, I ken. I apologize, love. I’ll try and shut up.”

He drives fast and the small car hugs the curved roads. Claire grips the seat, straining against the belt strap.

“Seriously.”

“Sorry!” he says contritely.

They arrive in record time, and Jamie doesn’t even bother parking. He pulls up in front, ignoring the signs that are clearly marked AMBULANCE. He leaves the car running, and hurries to open Claire’s door and help her struggle out of the car.

“We’re here!” he shouts to no one in particular as they burst through the automatic doors.

“Hello there. Can I help ye?” A man in a doctor’s white coat strides forward, clipboard in hand.

“My wife. She’s in labor. Help her, please!” Jamie says breathlessly, refusing to let go of Claire’s hand even as the man tries to guide her towards a wheelchair.

“I’m Dr. Abernathy. How far apart are the pains, ma’am?”

“Four minutes apart, about a minute long,” Claire gasps, as another contraction hits. She doubles over briefly, much to Jamie’s concern. His face is white to the lips, and he recalls their conversation about how hard it would be to witness Claire’s pain as she brings their child into the world. He had had no idea.

Jamie grits his own teeth in sympathy as Claire hisses with each breath. He puts a hand on her enormous belly. “Was that a bad one, _mo chridhe_?”

“You think?” she growls, then winces. “I’m sorry. Yes, it was bad.”

Jamie’s frantic train of thought is interrupted when he is asked by a nurse to please move his vehicle, as it is an emergency entrance. He doesn’t want to leave Claire, but he left her bag in the car. He’s torn until Dr. Abernathy touches his shoulder gently.

“She’ll be a little while longer. Let’s get her to a delivery room. You can meet us there.” Dr. Abernathy takes hold of the chair and pushes Claire down the hall through a set of doors. Jamie feels as though his heart is going with her.

After parking properly, he doesn’t even think about asking where Claire is; he simply follows where she was taken and calls out to her as he goes by every door until she responds.

“Jamie?” Claire bites her lip, trying not to cry out and curse—it would only worry her desperate husband.

“Sassenach!” He rushes into the room, collapsing next to her on the bed. “How are ye? Is the pain worse? What did the doctor say? Can I get ye anything?”

“The gas. The drugs. Screw the prophylactic courses,” she pleads. “The breathing exercises are _shit_, they don’t work at all!”

“Let me ask. I’ll be right back, love.” With a quick kiss to her forehead, Jamie stumbles out of the delivery room, calling out for whoever’s nearest that his wife would like the drugs _now_, please and thank ye. A kind, matronly midwife whose nametag reads Glenna Fitzgibbons informs him that she’s taken over Claire’s delivery and follows him back to his wife’s room to administer pain relief.

Glenna hooks Claire up to a gas canister and tube. She takes a few relieved puffs and her tired body relaxes as the pain fades a bit. The contractions are still coming faster and harder, however, and Claire squeezes Jamie’s hand hard enough that he grimaces with every touch. _Good_, she thinks with a smirk.

“Let’s see how far along ye are, dearie,” Glenna says patiently, and proceeds to poke and prod Claire. She emerges and pats her knee. “Good news! Ye’re fully dilated now. Baby’s ready to come out!”

The midwife gives a nervous Jamie instructions to hold Claire’s leg up and out of the way while she pushes. Claire scoots down the bed, propped up by pillows. Her face is red, plastered with unruly curls and perspiration. _She’s sae beautiful,_ Jamie thinks.

Alternating hot and cold waves rush through Claire’s body as she bears down, grunting and panting. Jamie stands beside her, talking her through it in Gaelic. The cascade of words she only half-understands (including a few choice curses involving farm animals when she crushes his hand) is soothing, as it always has been. Claire cries and curses too, so many expletives directed at no one in particular that even she is startled.

Finally, there is a ripping sensation, as she pushes through the haze of pain, and with a gentle murmur, Glenna holds up a squirming baby.

“It’s a boy!” she announces happily, as he begins to wail. Claire releases shaky laughter and tears. Then she notices that Jamie is also crying and laughing.

“It’s a boy,” she repeats in wonder, then they both say in unison, “Henry Brian!”

Jamie goes over to peek while nurses fuss over their newborn and all she can hear is his piercing cry. They weigh and measure, and finally clean, settle Henry in her arms. After a minute or two, he quiets down, snuffling but peaceful.

It’s been almost twelve months since they met for the first time; neither could have imagined it would lead to this day. Neither could have imagined so much joy, so much love.

“He has your red hair, but my curls, Jamie, look!”

“I see him, _mo chridhe_. He’s beautiful, just like you. Ye ken, my mam used to say all bairns choose their mothers in heaven, before they’re born. If that is so, then our son could not have chosen anyone better to be his own mam.”

Henry Brian has not opened his eyes. Whether they’ll be sapphire like his da, or honey gold like his mother, remains to be seen. As for Jamie and Claire, all they can see is a little piece of heaven, right here on earth.


End file.
